Onto Obsidian, Not Into Oblivion
by ladyredraven
Summary: A few months after the Second War ends, the Wizarding World remembers the fallen and those lost during the reign of Lord Voldemort.
1. Chapter 1

I really should learn to not write multiple stories at one time. Oh well, more fun this way.

Harry Potter doesn't belong to me!

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Chapter 1

October 31, 1998

Diagon Alley never lost its hustle and bustle. It picked up speed towards the end of summer when all of the Hogwarts letters were sent out. Hordes of children accompanied by loved ones swarmed to purchase supplies. Christmas holidays brought in a surge of frenzied shoppers. Even in the down times, which after the two busiest times seemed calm to denizens of the Alley, excitement was around every corner.

However, the war changed it, and it isn't what it was. Three years laughter and joy echoed off the walls of stores from eager students. War escalated, and the merriment subdued a mere two years ago. Only Weasley Wizard Wheezes had the exuberance of youth and life. This last year, no one lurked out unless they were in tightly-knit groups. A feeling of wrongness is present, even with the war months dead. It comes from the rubble of Gringotts, the ransacked shop that Ollivander is trying to salvage. Now the famous joke shop that was said to have rivaled Zonko's sits abandoned by its sole owner. Boards haphazardly cover the glass.

Now silence and solitude are the norm. Today, well now, today is an anomaly. A symphony of cracks, pops, and the whooshes of Floo precede a multitude. Tom doesn't bother to ask them what they want. He's gone, swept up with the others. Cloaks of black, brown, grey, and somber shades of Hogwarts House colors belie the clothing underneath. Elderly witches and wizards are decked out in their finest robes in their richest colors. Students, let out for the momentous day, have cloaks with their House's insignia on the left breast. Underneath were outfits from the Muggle world; none mismatched. A few adults 'tutted' and muttered about "the getup that Muggles wear" as small talk. They are the bridge between old and young. A harmony of Wizard and Muggle wear has become their style, and they've done their best, but a few mismatched items elicit stifled giggles from the students.

The sea of bodies flow to a part of Diagon Alley where a great many shops were destroyed by Death Eaters. Now the cobblestones have been cleaned and the rubble Banished. Pristinely clipped grass meets the cobblestones and extends as far as the eye can see. Rows of folding chairs are arranged around a magnificent black wall in the middle of the field. It didn't connect to anything and from the shadows, it seemed to jut out and retract in certain parts.

The chairs are set up on bleachers as if it were a magnificent sports arena. Golden ones, the closest to the wall, rest on the grass and are guarded by a plethora of magnificent Patroni. A stag, otter, Jack Russell terrier, hare, horse, vulture, tabby cat, and lynx lead the army which numbers around fifty. They let in the Hogwarts professors, a group consisting of students and adults bearing a Galleon with the numbers 31101998, and a red-haired family of six accompanied by two ethereal blondes. A few of the Galleon-bearing cast Patroni that join the honor guard. Others summon theirs to whisper to them before Apparating away. Quickly, they return with befuddled guests, obvious to all of the magical folks present that the newcomers are Muggles. Now, another group, a ragtag bunch, are let into the reserved seats. Those seated there snap up and salute, resulting in an amused salute in return. Hands are shaken, backs are clapped, and many heads of hair are tousled.

Behind them are silver seats with students' names on them in House colors. All of them were on bleachers. Proudly the Hogwarts crew took their seats. Casual chatter masked their somber eyes. Some had Muggle relatives next to them who were warmly greeted.

White chairs are the majority on the field. It's general seating on a first-come, first-served basis. On first sight it doesn't seem that there are enough people in the Wizarding world to fill them. But oh do they fill! The fact that all of Wizarding Britain has taking a holiday becomes apparent. Some people, desperate to have a spot, mount their brooms and hover above the crowd. A few brave souls try to hover above the golden seats, but the swan Patronus, aided by a bat, owl, Thestral, and a few other Patroni charge up to meet them. A lilting Scottish voice of a young woman snarls at them, "Not on my life buster." Then the unfortunate fliers become the target of the angered Patroni. Hurriedly they retreat, being pushed back farther than most of the mounted audience.

Slowly, as if in anticipation, the crowd lulls itself into a silence. A bell tolls ten times.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As the tenth stroke dies, a series of precise pops fills the quiet field. The Minister of Magic, the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and six war-hardened teenagers are the source. They are resplendent in their sharpest robes with wands in their outstretched hands. A deliberate flick from the brunette girl, no, young lady, intertwining her free hand in the red-haired man's brings eight golden chairs into existence in front of the wall. Another young man, this one visibly scarred, waves a block of wood into being. The wise, aged Headmistress has resumed her practice of carrying a walking stick, this one inlaid with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and topazes in the ebony wood, pulled her wand out from the center of the stick and mutter at the block of wood to Transfigure it into a podium of walnut. Grandly, as if they were royalty, they took their seats as thousands upon thousands of eyes watched them.

The Patroni guarding the golden seats dissipate barring the lynx, tabby, stag, Jack Russell terrier, otter, horse, hare, and vulture. They each make their way to their casters who stroke them and speak in hushed tones. The eight go out into the golden seats and spoke to the occupants. All of the Galleon-bearing bunch nod and recast their Patroni. Others, some from the ragtag team and some from the red-haired family, cast theirs as well. A reduced army stalk the audience's border of seats. The eight who remained stay with their honored castees.

Confidently, it seems as if fear would be a foreigner to their faces, the octet stride purposefully to their seats. The Headmistress is visibly out of breath to the concerns of all the attendees. If they haven't been taught by the woman, they attended school with her, were going to be under her care, or at least knew of her feats. Closest to her are a blonde young lady in dusty blue robes and Minister Shacklebolt whom she heavily relies on to get back to her seat. The entire audience lets out a collective breath when she is settled. Her six young companions take their seats as well. On stage left, in order of closeness to the podium, are the Headmistress, the flame haired, the brunette, and blonde witches. Stage right sees a bespectacled young man with a distinctive scar, a young man similar in appearance to the flame-haired witch, and the scarred sandy-haired young man. The seat directly next to the podium on stage right is empty, for Minister Shacklebolt stands before the audience, having taken front and center at the podium.

The chocolate-skinned Minister is dazzling in black formal robes with a faint violet sheen. Piping on the edges is a shimmering silver color. The bell tower tolls again, just once. Surreptiously, the audience glances at their watches. 10:15.


End file.
